


To Adore

by JustJasper



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Masturbation, Praise Kink, Spanking, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 15:43:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6201214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustJasper/pseuds/JustJasper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They have an arrangement. Tonight, something different.</p><p>Happy Wintersend!</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Adore

**Author's Note:**

  * For [psikeval](https://archiveofourown.org/users/psikeval/gifts).



> Thank you to [heybulldawg](http://archiveofourown.org/users/heybulldawg) for betaing!

**“Attraction is beyond our will or ideas sometimes.” - Juliette Binoche**

Not robes tonight; instead, a fine cotton blend shirt, deep blue, fitted along the arms, loose at the body, with a deep neckline that comes together low on her sternum. Her trousers are similarly fine in dark samite, sitting high on her waist and ending at dark heels received as a gift of thanks from their own Spymaster. Leliana has excellent taste, and a good sense for when restitution need only be a material item. No henin and no jewellery, gently dark at the eyes and bare at the mouth, a simplicity that is elegant and appears effortless. Rather unlike what is required of her on a day to day basis, but entirely appropriate to proceedings for the evening ahead.

What Vivienne chooses to wear for the night is important. What Cassandra will wear is equally as important, though the woman might not know it, and Vivienne is interested to find out what she's chosen. It could very well be disastrous, if Cassandra were to pander to what she thinks Vivienne would like to see of her. But Cassandra is a wilful woman, and Vivienne can't imagine even her influence is enough to see Cassandra unduly swayed.

Precisely at the arranged time, Cassandra comes to her quarters, knocks briskly and waits on the other side of the door. Vivienne lets a few seconds pass, a small test, and then sets her quill aside.

“Come in.”

Cassandra is dressed plainly, a red shirt and dark britches, with soft leather boots. Practically seems the nature of it; finery would have suggested nervousness, armour unwillingness. She had prepared herself for either, even if unlikely, but Cassandra proves Vivienne's initial judgement was correct.

The red is interesting. She'd suggested such a shade once in a conversation about the Game, and it would seem she was right; red certainly is Cassandra's colour.

“Good evening, Cassandra,” Vivienne says warmly, as she rises.

“And to you, Vivienne. I hope I find you well.”

“You do indeed.” Vivienne smiles as she crosses to the drinks cabinet to retrieve the wine she's selected for the night, that has been sitting open to breathe: a dry red from Hercinia. “And yourself, my dear? I heard the tail-end of some commotion in the keep, I can only assume you were left to deal with it, as you so often are.”

“Oh, that was nothing serious,” Cassandra says, relaxing minutely as Vivienne closes the distance between them and passes a glass into her hand. “A fight. The noise was more than the damage done.”

“One of Cullen's men, I take it?”

Cassandra sighs. “Is it really so telling?”

“Aside from a handful of former sellswords who've sworn themselves to the cause of the Inquisition, the only force of any size in the keep are the Bull's men, and they seem to have been encouraged to take other avenues to settle a disagreement before it becomes a problem. Cullen, one assumes, has not encouraged witnessed combat and sex by way of settling his men's quarrels.”

Cassandra laughs then, sipping her wine. Something Vivienne must thank Josephine for; there are so few good Free Marcher vintages, and they have become near-impossible to acquire.

“Combat, yes, that at least he's taken from the Bull. He has yet to suggest that his men take to each other's bed to ease their tensions, as far as I know. I could not say that it is actually a bad idea. I thought the Chargers would be more trouble, but the Bull's methods work.”

“Yes,” Vivienne says, considering. “So you broke up this fight?”

“I—” a telling pause, “mediated, until Cullen arrived.”

Vivienne smirks at her. “I have seen your mediation, Cassandra. It is rather impressive.”

She leads the way to the open doors of her balcony, that look out over the mountains, with the winding river, and the distant farmland. The evening air is cool, but they're sheltered from the wind, and with the warmth of the room at their backs it's quite pleasant to stand and drink together, watching the sun set and disappear.

They've talked about tonight, much in inference on Vivienne's usual balcony perch above the great hall. There is only so much either of them is willing to say in a space they might be overheard, if only for the sake of avoiding gossip.

“You hope for tonight to be somewhat of a departure from our usual arrangement,” Vivienne says, and Cassandra nods. Quiet, in her nervousness, but she still seems calm. “Now, I think, would be the appropriate time to discuss the specifics.”

Cassandra is quiet for long minutes as she drinks from her wine and considers the view from Vivienne's balcony. “I would like you to spank me. I am not sure how to be more specific than this.”

“That is certainly an image, my dear.”

“If you are not comfortable with this—”

Vivienne lays her hand gently on Cassandra's arm. “Don't fret, you've not made me uncomfortable. I had made some assumptions, after you spoke of your interest in something 'different'. Spanking was one of the tamer possibilities I thought of.”

Cassandra laughs, leans minutely into Vivienne's hand.

“Only, I would like to know a little of how you'd like to go about it.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, would you like me to scold you like a child? Tie you up and play at torturing you for information, turn your skin black and blue with a paddle or crop? Are you hoping I'll spank you as punishment, my dear?”

Cassandra bristles. “No.”

“That's often how people wish to experience such a thing.”

“I—” Cassandra nods, takes another drink. “I understand that. But that is not what I want.”

“Then just my hand.”

“Yes.”

Vivienne can understand her hesitance, asking a lover for something unfamiliar is a daunting prospect. And they most certainly are lovers, even if neither of them would use the term so freely.

“That is a fine idea, Cassandra.”

When the wine is gone from their glasses they set them down on the balcony and promptly forget about them as they move back into Vivienne's quarters proper. Vivienne's hand, where it has still been braced on Cassandra's shoulder, moves to caress her face instead. Cassandra smiles, tension mostly gone. When she takes up Vivienne's hand, raises it to her mouth and kisses the heel. There's no grace about the action, but a sincerity that Vivienne has truly come to appreciate. To adore.

“Undress, Cassandra.”

She does so without ceremony, boots, then leggings, shirt and underwear and breastband following, all folded neatly over a chair. She stands awkwardly, unsure what to do with her hands. Not timid, though, she had never been timid, even when Vivienne had anticipated she might be.

Cassandra has nothing to be timid about; her body is so clearly a fighter's body, a trained body, muscles honed to bear a sword and shield. She straightens under Vivienne's appreciative gaze.

“You are so very handsome, Cassandra,” she says, places her hands at Cassandra's neck, and brings her face close so she can kiss her. Without her shoes Vivienne might stand at the same height as Cassandra, but here she leans her head down, Cassandra's face tilted up, so their lips can meet.

It's not a chaste thing, but it is gentle, unhurried. They have set this time aside for themselves, and nothing short of an emergency can see them deviating from their time together.

Cassandra touches Vivienne's waist, and when she makes no move to correct her, wraps her hands more firmly there, holding Vivienne to her as they kiss. She kisses much like the woman she is: without nonsense, or flair, but with skill and an underlying imtensity that makes Vivienne's pulse quicken under her skin.

“The bed, I think,” Vivienne says.

She takes up her place at the centre of the bed, legs stretched out in front of her.

“Come.”

Cassandra hesitates, though apparently only in the consideration of logistics, before she climbs gamely onto the bed and over Vivienne's thighs, presenting her muscular backside for Vivienne's appreciation.

Now, Vivienne ponders how to proceed. It isn't as if she hasn't delivered the flat of her hand against lovers in such a context before; indeed, Nicoline took great pleasure in watching Bastien under Vivienne's hand, and in taking a turn after his husband under Vivienne's ministrations.

She puts her hand against the back of Cassandra's thigh, to feel the woman still under her touch.

“Would you like to choose a word so you might have me stop when you wish, Cassandra? It is often done this way.”

“If I want you stop, I will tell you,” Cassandra says. “I trust that you will heed me.”

“Of course, my dear.”

Cassandra is a warm, solid weight against her legs as she rubs her hand along the backs of her thighs. She considers the tan skin, smooth and delicate underhand, and the way Cassandra shivers when Vivienne lightly draws her nails across her.

She ought not warn her, lest that take the fun out of the whole thing. Vivienne takes her hand from the back of Cassandra's thigh and strikes her hard across her backside.

Cassandra gasps with surprise, going stiff against Vivienne, clutching at the bedsheets. Vivienne waits to see if Cassandra tells her to stop – but after a moment as Vivienne considers the slight sting in her palm, Cassandra relaxes again.

So Vivienne spanks her again.

“Oh, your derrière does make such a pleasing sound, my dear!”

Cassandra makes a sound that has become her signature, but it has no real heat to it. She might even be blushing, if she were to turn her face where Vivienne could see.

She delivers several more blows, alternating between Cassandra's cheeks; short, sharp blows with no great force behind them. Cassandra wriggles, and her breath hitches, and she seems to be rather enjoying herself.

“Could you—” she starts, peering around at Vivienne. Her cheeks are flushed, her pupils gone so wide her brown irises are a mere halo of colour.

“Hm?”

“Harder.”

Vivienne raises a perfect brow at her, and waits.

“Harder, please.”

“Of course.”

Her next blow is more forceful than the previous ones, hitting the meat of Cassandra's backside with a resounding crack.

“Ah!” Cassandra gasps, and her hips press hard against Vivienne's legs.

She strikes her once more, twice, three times, and then lays her hand gently against Cassandra's flesh, which is turning a pleasing red and radiating heat. Cassandra flinches at the touch, expecting a blow, and not the soothing touch of a smooth hand.

“Is this what you desired, Cassandra?”

“Yes.”

“Would you like to continue?”

“Please.”

“Good.”

Vivienne braces her forearm against the small of Cassandra's back, shimmering with sweat, and spanks her again, aims her blows where her thighs meet the curve of her backside, where the flesh is most forgiving, and wiggles the most enticingly with the impact.

Cassandra herself wiggles too, hips shaking needily. Vivienne hums her amusement and gives what Cassandra wants, firm, hard blows against the red skin of her backside. Vivienne's hand is almost numb from the impact, but it's of no matter, in fact it almost feels like an achievement.

With each blow Cassandra begins to gasp, or whimper, or yell, unable to quell her sounds any longer. She has never been a silent lover, but it always takes some time to coax her away from her own self-regulated quiet. Cassandra is losing herself to sensation now, and Vivienne is proud to be the one allowing her the experience.

“Are you alright, Cassandra?” Vivienne asks, and stays her hand before she can land another blow.

“Oh, please, oh.”

Eloquence is unsurprisingly beyond her now. Vivienne reconsiders; she must be clear.

“Do you want me to stop, Cassandra?”

“No,” she groans.

“You want to keep going?”

“Yes.”

Calling a stop may be beyond Cassandra at this point, but Vivienne trusts her answer, and her own judgement. She rains several hard, fast strikes against Cassandra's sore backside, the crack of each blow stinging her throbbing palm. She hadn't considered, somehow, that she would feel the impact too.

She soothes each barrage of blows with her hand, and that makes Cassandra flinch and struggle more, the sudden softness between the hard blows. Her backside is aflame with it, red all over, the tops of her thighs too, where the blows have been struck lower down. Warm and wet where Cassandra grinds against her legs, the smell of her everywhere.

“Oh my dear, you're dripping!” Vivienne says, delighted. “I can practically feel you soaking through my trousers, the way you're rubbing on me.”

Cassandra whimpers, hands fisted in the sheets, body glistening with sweat. How perfectly debauched, how perfectly pure she looks like this.

“Don't worry, my dear. Do you want me to keep going?”

“Vivienne, please, please.”

“Alright. I'll keep going, and you will touch yourself.”

Cassandra groans, and drags one hand around, over Vivienne's legs, and under herself. She moans, belly-deep as her fingers find herself slick between her thighs, the dark curls that frame her labia damp.

Vivienne slaps the heated skin of Cassandra's backside again, and she gasps. From here Vivienne can see how Cassandra's fingers work, how she toys with her clit and her folds, how she slips her fingers shallowly inside herself and continues to worry the nub of alighted nerves with her thumb.

When Cassandra comes, she very nearly howls with it, the slick sounds of her fingers moving, the sharp crack of Vivienne's blows in the finale of the thing, reaching a crescendo and peaking so beautifully. It all culminates in Cassandra's loud moaning, a wavering cry, and then petering away to something low and rumbling, and a sudden jelly-boned limpness.

Vivienne smiles, soothes her hand over Cassandra's quivering, heated flesh, and lets her rest for long minutes. Cassandra's hand stills, and her breathing evens, and she slowly comes back to herself.

“You did so very well, my dear.”

Cassandra crawls off Vivienne's lap and collapses onto the bed, hand gentle on Vivienne's thigh.

“Thank you. That was just as I'd hoped. Better, even.”

“I'm very glad you enjoyed yourself. I rather did, too.”

Cassandra's hand goes higher, a slight pressure at the inside of Vivienne's thigh. She feels the warmth that has grown at her centre curl and lick higher, a fanned flame.

“There is no need, my dear,” Vivienne says kindly, covering Cassandra's wrist with her slim fingers. “Tonight was about you.”

“I would like to,” Cassandra says, sitting up on the bed. The hand under Vivienne's turns, Cassandra's fingers gentle on the skin of her wrist. She cannot honestly claim she does not desire, even if she would be happy only to give, tonight.

“Then by all means.”

Cassandra closes the space between them and unties the lace at the closure of Vivienne's trousers, enough to slip her hand inside. She's wet under the cotton and lace, and Cassandra's blunt fingers find her clit with ease. She's using the same hand she used to touch herself.

Vivienne tilts her hips into the contact, shuddering in pleasure at the thought. So wrapped up in her ministrations of Cassandra, she quite underestimated how affected she was, and how easy it would be for Cassandra, who is familiar with her body by now, to flick and rub her clit until she plants a slightly frantic open-mouthed kiss on Cassandra's waiting lips, and comes.

“Oh, Cassandra,” Vivienne says. _My love_ , she does not say. That would be a mistake at this juncture, she feels; there is much difference between 'my lover' and 'my love', after all. They have found pleasure in each other's company, and she knows they would trust their lives to each other in battle, but to declare it as anything but the pleasurable company of friends would be foolish. Vivienne cannot, will not, be a fool again.

It's a fancy for a younger woman, not one who has become all she is, and not one who treads the path she does. A different life. She has no regret for a road she didn't take.

“Tell me, what instrument did your family insist you learn? Those aren't merely warrior's finger, for gripping a broadsword.”

“The harp,” Cassandra says, with an air of disgust as she pushes her damp hair away from her fringe with the hand she used to touch Vivienne – her fingers pause minutely at her mouth, touching her lip beneath her nose, a small inhale. Vivienne lets her teeth catch on her bottom lip for just a breath.

“Oh, I can tell.”

“Then the lessons were not a complete waste.”

Vivienne laughs, leaning to Cassandra's space and pressing their foreheads together. They breathe together, falling into sync as their bodies calm and their minds quiet in the aftermath.

“Indeed not, my dear friend.”

**"I believe very strongly that when it comes to desire, when it comes to attraction, that things are never black and white, things are very much shades of grey." - Brian Molko**


End file.
